Rune’s POV
Blood always looked darker beneath the arena lights.
It glistened across the stained canvas like spilled ink, soaking into decades of violence that no amount of scrubbing could erase.
The crowd loved it.
Every drop that fell was met with deafening cheers and laughter, like it wasn’t a fight for death in the ring.
The announcer stepped into the center of the cage, his booming voice echoing through the underground arena.
“Ladies and gentlemen!”
The roaring crowd answered him before he could continue.
“Tonight, the Black Crest Syndicate welcomes you back to another unforgettable night of bloodshed!”
Thunderous applause erupted and I rolled my eyes; the same thing every night.
A woman wearing a bathing suit climbed onto the edge of the cage, holding up the next fight card while gamblers shouted odds from every direction.
“Five hundred says the rookie lasts two rounds!” one shouted.
“You’re dreaming!” another said.
“I’ve got a thousand on Rune!”
I scoffed, adjusted my hair, and did a few stretches; the fight tonight was going to be tough, and I had to get ready.
“Rune!”
“Rune!”
“Rune!”
The chant grew louder with every passing second until the announcer grinned.
“It seems our audience already has a favorite.”
A spotlight swung toward the entrance tunnel and I knew it was my cue to come out.
I stepped out and jumped into the ring and the crowd went crazy with cheers.
I looked around, making sure there were no familiar faces.
My hood concealed most of my face anyway.
I looked up and stared at my opponent; he looked like a giant.
He was well over six feet tall with very broad shoulders and a thick beard; he took up so much space that the ropes seemed to sag under his weight.
He cracked his neck before sneering at me.
“So, you’re Rune.”
I ignored him.
“I heard they call you undefeated,” he said.
I ignored him and looked around, and the giant laughed.
“I’ll enjoy ending that.”
I scoffed; fools overestimating themselves were always a sight to behold.
The referee stepped between us.
“No eye-gouging, no biting, and no hidden weapons.”
He looked from one fighter to the other.
“If either of you dies,” he shrugged, “that’s not my problem.”
The bell rang and the giant charged first; his fist cut through the air and I slipped sideways.
The punch smashed into the cage instead, rattling the metal fencing.
The audience screamed with excitement and the giant swung again, so I ducked; he tried a third punch, and I ducked and moved to the other side.
“Fight back!” someone yelled from the audience.
The giant chuckled and took one step too far, which was his mistake.
I moved fast and used a sharp left hook to slam into the man’s ribs.
Crunch.
The sound echoed through the arena and the giant staggered.
Before he could recover, I gave him another punch straight to his jaw.
His head snapped sideways and the audience erupted.
“That’s our Rune!”
The giant roared in anger and tackled me; both of us crashed onto the bloodstained canvas, the impact shaking the cage.
The giant pinned me down, raining punches toward my face; he managed to get two in before my lips split and I could taste blood.
“Finish him!”
“Kill him!”
My vision blurred for half a second, then I trapped the man’s wrist and shifted my hips.
I rolled over immediately, and now our positions were reversed.
My elbow crashed into the giant’s temple several times, and I drove my elbow into the man’s ribs.
A crack echoed across the arena.
The giant groaned in pain.
The crowd surged to its feet.
“Finish him!”
“Come on, Rune!”
“Cut his head off!”
My fist connected with the man’s jaw in a clean, devastating uppercut and the giant’s eyes rolled back.
The referee knelt beside the unconscious giant.
“One.”
“Two.”
By the count of three, everyone knew the fight was over and I was the winner.
The referee grabbed my wrist and lifted it high.
“Winner!”
He paused as the audience erupted.
“It’s RUNE!”
The warehouse exploded into deafening applause and money rained into the cage.
I lowered my arm before the referee even released it and climbed out of the cage without acknowledging the crowd.
Victories meant nothing; they only meant I lived long enough to fight again.
The hallway behind the arena was dark and damp.
The cheers outside became muffled echoes.
I sat heavily on a wooden bench, ready to smoke, when a medic approached me with a first-aid kit.
“Split lip again.”
He dabbed antiseptic onto the cut and I didn’t flinch.
“You’ve got bruised ribs, I’ll give you some pankillers.”
He wrapped fresh bandages around my torso.
“You also fractured your right hand.”
I flexed my fingers to check and it seemed fine
“It’ll heal.”
The medic sighed.
“One day you’re going to push too far.”
I scoffed and stood up.
“Not today, then.”
I was just about to leave when someone called my name.
“Rune.”
I turned back, and Vincent, the owner of the Black Crest Syndicate, stood there with leather gloves covering his hands; his tailored black suit looked like it was a little too tight for him.
One of his men stepped forward carrying a thick brown envelope.
Vincent took it and held it out; I accepted it without counting.
There was never any point for me to count it.
Vincent always paid exactly what he intended to pay.
“No greeting?” Vincent asked mildly.
I remained silent.
“I suppose broken ribs don’t improve one’s manners,” he said again.
Vincent loved poking people, and now it seemed he was poking me, too.
“I watched the fight, and your defense was slower tonight,” he said.
“I still won.”
“You did, but you were knocked down.”
My jaw tightened.
“You know what worries me?” Vincent continued.
“When people begin fighting for too long, they start believing the finish line is close.”
I finally met his eyes.
“It is.”
A soft chuckle escaped Vincent.
“No, boy, it isn’t.”
He stepped closer.
“So let me remind you.”
Vincent leaned in just enough for only me to hear.
“You still owe the Black Crest Syndicate more than you can imagine; any misstep from you, and your mother is back on that table with her kidney out.”
“I’ve been working for you, the debt is almost paid,” I snarled.
“That’s why you shouldn’t let any misstep occur.”
Without another word, Vincent walked away and his men followed him.
I sighed and remained standing in the hallway for several seconds.
Then, I shoved the envelope into my duffel bag, picked up my motorcycle helmet, and left.
The apartment building was near the edge of town; it was old and cracked, but I couldn’t leave until my debt to Vincent was paid.
I climbed three flights of stairs, and each step sent pain shooting through my ribs.
Apartment 3B.
I unlocked the door quietly and the stale smell of alcohol hit me instantly.
Empty bottles littered the living room floor and Coral Harlway, my mother, was asleep on the couch, curled beneath a faded blanket.
A half-empty bottle dangled loosely from her hand; I carefully took it away before it slipped onto the floor, and she stirred.
“L-Landon?”
I froze; at home, Rune didn’t exist, only Landon.
“I’m home,” I said.
Her tired eyes blinked open and she noticed the bruise forming beneath my cheekbone and my split lip.
“You fought again,” she said.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
I forced a small smile.
“I’ve had worse.”
She reached for my hand, and the moment her fingers brushed my bruised knuckles, I winced.
She immediately pulled away as tears filled her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and I looked away.
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“I do.” Her voice broke.
“If I hadn’t borrowed that money to pay your dad’s debt, none of this would have happened,” she said.
“Go to sleep, Mom,” I said.
I walked to my room, then headed toward the bathroom and locked the door behind me.
The mirror reflected someone I barely recognized.
Split lip, matted in purple bruises, and a cut above my eyebrow.
Bandages were wrapped tightly around my ribs; I stared at myself for a long moment, then I turned on the shower.
As I reached for the soap, a loud knock echoed through the apartment and I frowned; it was nearly midnight.
Coral’s frightened voice echoed through the hallway.
“L-Landon…” she said.
The knocking became pounding, and a familiar voice called from outside the door.
“Open up, Coral.”
My entire body went rigid.
“We know you’re home.” The female voice shrieked.
“We’re not leaving without our money,” the voice yelled again.
I groaned and smashed my fist against the mirror.